


Blood of The Covenant

by ReesieReads



Series: Lune Gift [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Della Duck Tries, Donald Duck-centric, Gen, Honorary Duck Family Member Webby Vanderquack, Hurt Louie Duck, Hurt/Comfort, Louie Duck Needs a Hug, Louie Duck-centric, Louie Duck’s Hurt Spleen, Mental Hurt, Older Sibling Huey Duck, Overprotective Donald Duck, Parent Donald Duck, Physical hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReesieReads/pseuds/ReesieReads
Summary: Louie gets hurt again, and all he wants is his siblings and Uncle Donald. While his Uncle is happy to oblige, Della is not very happy about the turn of events.
Relationships: Bentina Beakley & Donald Duck, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Donald Duck & Della Duck, Donald Duck & Louie Duck
Series: Lune Gift [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083740
Comments: 7
Kudos: 200





	Blood of The Covenant

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you aren’t aware, the term “Blood is thicker then Water” is actually supposed to be “Blood of the Covenant is thicker then the water of the womb” which means that biological ties aren’t stronger then friendships/chosen bonds.

Louie had almost died,  _ again. _

Of course it wasn’t like that was abnormal (though that didn’t make things any better), but this time was different. Every other near-death experience had ended with Louie walking away unscathed (physically anyway, he doubted any of them were okay mentally), but this time he was absolutely hurt.

It’s not like Louie told them right away or anything (he figured they would all think he was exaggerating), but eventually the pain in his stomach had become too much to ignore. Breaking down in front of his family had been pretty embarrassing, but at that point Louie was in too much pain to really care anymore.

“Eh…” Scrooge looked at a loss, stepping forward to try and help but unsure of how to do it. “Lad, it’s  _ okay,  _ I’m not going to let anything happen to you-“

“Too late,” Louie growled, and though he hadn’t meant to sound harsh he felt just a  _ little  _ satisfaction seeing his Great Uncle flinch. He was sick of getting hurt over and over with everyone else just telling him to shake it off. 

“You're  _ hurt?”  _ Huey asked, eyes widening. Since his older brother was the closest thing to their Uncle Donald (seriously the two were so alike sometimes, it was a bit creepy), Louie had opted to lean into his older brother. Webby and Dewey stood nearby, close enough to reach but not touching. “Where?” Huey demanded, “how?”

Louie couldn’t respond though, not without breaking down even more. He had managed to choke down most of it, only a few tears and whimpers escaping, and he would prefer to keep it that way. Not only was his whole family here, but his  _ Mom  _ was with them.

He didn’t want to give her more fuel to hate him.

“Oh gosh…” Webby muttered, eyes flashing with comprehension. She turned to Louie, voice both worried and angry. “You got hurt when you fell down that staircase didn’t you?”

It was true. The family had been making their way into a haunted house’s basement (it was actually a dungeon, but it was practically the same thing for the Duck family) when Louie tripped on a busted stair. He had tumbled all the way down, hitting his stomach somewhere in the process.

Not that anyone had been particularly worried about him.

“The stair-“ The oldest triplet cut himself off, looking vaguely ill. “That was  _ hours  _ ago!”

“Louie,” the youngest duckling flinched at the worry in his Mom’s tone, pressing further into his brother. He  _ really  _ didn’t feel up to talking to Della at the moment. She didn’t seem to notice his discomfort however, placing what was probably meant to be a comforting hand on his cheek.

He flinched away.

His vision was too blurred to see correctly, but Louie could imagine the hurt on his Mother’s face clearly. It was a look she gave him often, one that always filled him with a simmering rage and a drowning guilt.  _ ‘Great job, Lou,’  _ he thought to himself, hiding his face in Huey’s shoulder,  _ ‘you just love hurting people don’t you?’ _

“I’m…” Scrooge coughed awkwardly, and Louie let out a watery laugh at his Great Uncle’s discomfort. Unlike Della (who Louie was pretty sure hated him at this point), Scrooge was just bad with emotions. “I’m going to call Donald…”

Della sighed before walking off with Scrooge, leaving the children alone to wait. They were somewhere deep in the dungeon, the only thing lighting their surroundings being a torch on the wall. If he wasn’t consumed with pain, Louie likely would have been afraid.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” Dewey asked softly, sitting down against the wall. Webby slid down beside him, eyes locked on the youngest triplet. Huey carefully helped Louie slide down as well, the grip on his shoulder tightening when the youngest winced from pain.

Once they were all situated (Louie resting his head on Huey’s shoulder and lacing one of his hands with Dewey’s), he decided to just be honest. “I didn’t want to bother you,” he admitted weakly. A sharp breath from Huey and a hand squeeze from Dewey told him that was probably the wrong thing to say.

“This isn’t-“ Huey sucked in a breath, sounding close to tears himself. “This isn’t the kind of thing you hide, Lou. You’re not going to…  _ bother  _ anyone because you're  _ hurt.” _

“Huey’s right,” Dewey said softly, a gentleness in his tone that few ever heard. “And I know I tease you a lot but… I care about you okay?”

Louie nodded mutely, not trusting himself to be able to talk. He knew his brother’s cared about him, but actually  _ hearing  _ it was something else entirely. His eyes stung with tears, and Louie could feel his breath hitching from choked down sobs.

“I’m sorry we didn’t notice,” Webby whispered, guilt lacing her tone. “We should have made sure you were okay.”

“Not like you could have known,” Louie managed, his voice quivering, “I get hurt all the time. This is just the first time it’s kind of serious.”

“Don’t let Uncle Donald hear you say that,” Dewey joked, though his own voice was shaking now. “He’d go ballistic.”

Louie laughed, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from his side. He would never admit it, but he  _ loved  _ spending time with his siblings. It made him feel cared about.

“We’ll be home soon,” Huey said, “don’t worry.”

No one was sure whether he was comforting Louie or himself.

-

When Donald heard that Louie was hurt Beakley literally had to hold him back from racing straight to wherever he was.

Years of raising three boys had caused Donald mounts of stress for various reasons, but  _ nothing  _ scared him more than one of his nephews (sons really) getting hurt. He was aware it was possible of course (they were on constant adventures that were insanely dangerous after all), but Donald trusted his Uncle. The boys had managed to get away with only minor scratches so far, and he had hoped that streak would continue.

Clearly it hadn’t.

Pacing anxiously in front of the entrance, Donald waited with bated breath for the family to return. His mind was supplying him with worst case scenarios, images of Louie bloodied and battered, or face completely blue from a lack of oxygen. Scrooge had been deathly sparse with details, and Donald had no idea what condition his nephew would arrive back in.

_ ‘I’m gonna kill him,’  _ he thought furiously, the anger sudden but not surprising. Louie had gotten hurt on  _ Scrooge’s  _ watch, his boy was  _ hurt  _ because of  _ Scrooge.  _ “I’m gonna  _ kill _ him!”

“No you're not,” Beakley replied calmly, watching him with stone-cold eyes from the staircase.

“No,” Donald admitted with a sigh, “I’m not.”

“I’m sure Louie is okay,” the housekeeper said softly, “and if not he  _ will be.  _ He has you after all.”

Donald smiled softly, glancing up at Beakley. The two of them had gotten much closer over the past year or two, but it still astounded him that she always knew exactly what to say. “Thank you, Mrs. B.”

“You’re a wonderful parent, Donald,” Beakley added, “those boys are lucky to have you.”

Donald hoped she was right.

-

By the time they got to the manor Louie was practically dead on his feet.

His stomach  _ hurt,  _ and it was hard to think around the blinding pain. At some point he had lost track of his siblings talking around him, the conversation turning into white noise. Louie wanted his Uncle desperately, even if he knew it was a bit childish. Donald would know how to fix his stomach and would comfort him in a way nobody else could.

“I-I want Uncle Donald!” He sobbed (when he had started full-blown crying he couldn’t say).

“It’s okay,” someone soothed him (Louie assumed it was Huey), “we’re almost there.”

They came to a stop for a moment, and Louie could vaguely tell that they were at the front door. His head was swimming, and he could feel the start of a headache beginning to form. At this point all Louie wanted was to curl up with his Uncle Donald and  _ sleep.  _ No one had let him go to bed on the plane and he was starting to become desperate for the escape a nap would provide him.

_ “Louie!” _

He melted in relief at the sound of his Uncle’s voice, tears coming to a sudden stop. Even the pain in his abdomen couldn’t stop Louie from looking up at his anxious Uncle. The older duck looked  _ awful,  _ with ruffled feathers and a half-buttoned nightshirt on. Louie felt a stab of guilt for making Donald worry so much.

Before he could even get a word in edgewise, the duckling was being ushered into the manor and out to the houseboat. Donald was known for hoarding medical supplies (whether it was a side effect of being in the navy or having three kids Louie didn’t know), and though Beakley was often their go-to for minor injuries, Donald was always good for more important issues.

Allowing his Uncle to carefully place him on his bunk, Louie found himself finally relaxing. Sure, the pain was  _ awful,  _ but Donald was there now so Louie didn’t have any reason to worry. He could feel one of his siblings lacing their hands with his, and Louie hummed gratefully.

He was going to be fine.

-

It was midnight before Donald finally allowed himself to sit down.

Taking care of Louie had been easy enough, even if it was anxiety inducing. Donald had determined that he had hurt his spleen (something Della had done  _ twice  _ when they were kids). He would take him to the Hospital in the morning, but for now Donald didn’t want to panic the whole family.

After Louie had fallen asleep (which had been pretty much immediately after Donald had put him in his bed), he had laid a cool towel on his stomach and checked him over for any other injuries. Despite the duckling’s ruffled appearance though, he seemed relatively okay.

Donald had checked the other children as well, and after assuring himself that they were okay he had helped them lay down next to their brother. Huey laid closest to the wall, one hand clutching the back of Louie’s hoodie. Webby laid on the opposite side, her fingers laced together with her brother’s. Dewey had taken the end of the bed, pressing his back against Louie’s feet.

It reminded Donald of him and Della when they were kids.

Nursing a cup of hot chocolate in his hands, Donald watched the wall clock in front of his seat on the couch tick. The houseboat was deadly quiet, the moon casting dark shadows around the wooden home.

“He  _ really  _ cares about you, you know.”

Jumping, Donald turned to see his sister standing next to the window. She was nursing her own mug, but she didn’t drink from it. Her eyes were trained solely on the full moon above, and he couldn’t help but have a bad feeling about the following conversation. “Who?” He asked softly, though he knew exactly who Della was talking about.

“Louie,” she said softly, “he kept asking for you, he didn’t…. he didn’t want anyone else.”

“He’ll warm up to you,” Donald promised her, “he just needs time.”

Della clenched the mug in her hands tightly, lowering her head just enough so that her hair hid her face. “I didn’t think it would be this hard,” she whispered, voice quivering. “Everyone always makes parenting look so  _ easy.” _

He swallowed nervously, wary gaze trained on his sister. Donald  _ wanted  _ to comfort her but… a large part of him also  _ didn’t.  _ He had raised the boys all by himself for a  _ decade,  _ and not once did he complain. Della had chosen to leave the boys behind when she got on that rocket, and Donald had stepped up. 

_ Donald  _ was the boy’s parent.

“Is it nice?” Della asked him, “being looked up to like that.”

“Dewey looks up to you.”

“Sure, he  _ idolizes  _ me,” she says with a shrug, “but that’s not the same as looking up to me as a  _ parent.  _ What’s that saying? The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb?”

He sighed, leaning back into the old cushions of his couch. Everything surrounding the Spear of Selene was…  _ complicated  _ to say the least, and Donald would prefer to just avoid the subject if he could. He could never seem to decide how he felt about the whole thing, and now that he knew how the boy’s felt about everything Donald was only more conflicted.

Della was actively suffering the consequences though, so there was no way around the subject.

“The boys  _ love  _ you Dumbella,  _ Webby  _ loves you.” He insisted, “it’s just going to take some time before they look at you as an authority figure. You’ve only been back for a few months, just be patient.”

“Alright, Donnie,” she agreed, finally turning around and looking at him. Her eyes were tinged red from crying, but they also held the same determination and energy they always did. Donald felt relieved as she came and sat down next to him, both of them just enjoying the other’s presence.

“Love you, Donnie.”

“Love you too, Dumbella.”


End file.
